


Unspoken Engagement

by felisblanco



Category: Angel: the Series RPF, Buffy the Vampire Slayer RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-08
Updated: 2005-11-08
Packaged: 2017-11-10 01:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/460628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felisblanco/pseuds/felisblanco
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's been six years...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unspoken Engagement

**Author's Note:**

> Again unbeta’d. Set in October 2005. Incidentally emerald is the birthstone for May (David) while peridot (also green) is the birthstone for August (James), something I just looked up but didn't know while I was writing this.

 

It sat at the bottom of his pocket, snuggled up with a bundle of soft tissue paper and the ever-present guitar nail. He could feel it through the thin material, rubbing against his thigh. Every now and then he would slide his hand inside to feel it between his fingers, roll it around, slip it on for a second or two. A cheap trinket, glass and brass, but value is all in the mind and this wouldn't be worth more to him if it were made of real gold and the finest green emerald.

Six years now he'd had it and it never strayed far away. At first he'd hid it in Spike's duster but it kept getting wrecked and shifted out for a new one and he'd been terrified that someone would find his treasure. And so he’d put it in the pocket of his jeans, moving it from work clothes to his own as necessary.

By now the golden paint had worn off and it looked even cheaper. A child's toy, a little princess' jewellery about to be discarded for something shinier. Except he wouldn't. Discard it, that is. Not for all the gold in the world.

It was stupid, he knew, to rely on that small twinkle of reassurance he felt every time he looked at it or fondled it in the palm of his hand. Most likely it wasn't even the real one, he was sure they'd had replicas made as they had of everything, from the coat on his back to the boots on his feet. But that wasn't what made it so precious to him either. Everything was fake anyway; doubled and tripled and sold on E-bay for a ridiculous price to obsessed fans.

Six years.

For all he knew it had been an accident or maybe even a prank, a cheap joke on his expense. After all they had fought for it and someone might have found it funny that he'd be left it as a souvenir. But somehow he knew that wasn't it. Maybe because it had been strategically placed somewhere an outsider wouldn't have thought of. Somewhere private and scary and meaningful. Somewhere only one man knew he would look.

He could still feel the small shock, the quickening of his heartbeat as he'd retrieved his small notebook of badly written lyrics to even worse written songs - long discarded although at the time he'd thought them quite brilliant - from its hiding place in his trailer and it tumbled down to fall into his open palm, like a penny from heaven. He'd stood frozen, staring down at the small thing in his hand. So small and yet so enormous in its potential meaning that he felt dizzy.

At last he'd gathered his few belongings and opened the door to his trailer, squinting in the sun for a moment before blinking and lowering his gaze. Straight into brown eyes, looking up at him, dark and unreadable. He'd opened his mouth to ask him about it, if he'd been the one who'd placed it there, but suddenly he felt afraid. Afraid that he'd say no, even more afraid that he'd say yes. So he only tightened his grip around the small object and nodded his greeting before descending the few steps and then together they'd walked to his car, saying their goodbyes with best-buddy smiles and glints in their eyes that said more than they dared but less than they wanted.

Six years.

He shook his head, closing his fist around the small ring. They had never mentioned it. It was like an unspoken promise between them, a symbol of something they had as well as of something they never could have. Oh there had been others. Small gifts that he'd accepted with a smile and a kiss and sometimes more. Most times more. A bottle of fine whiskey, a silver chain, a leather jacket. Chosen with care and worn with badly hidden pride. But not one of them carried the same kind of promise, the amount of hope that this cheap little thing did.

The cab slowed to a stop and he looked up to find he was already at his destination. Butterflies fluttered in the pit of his belly as he paid the driver and got out. The light drizzle dampened his hair and as he walked up to the door he caught his reflection in the glass. Wide-eyed and flushed. Hair curling like a cherub’s around his ears. Raindrops glistening on his eyelashes. Without giving himself time to think, to realise how ridiculous he was being he slipped the ring upon his finger before opening the door.

Six years today.

His heart was hammering in his chest, his throat contracting with tension. He could feel the ring slipping on his sweaty finger and he nervously turned it around and around. There he was, sitting by the bar, sipping beer straight from the bottle. Relaxed, self-assure.

“Hi.”

“You made it.”

“Of course.”

They smiled. David got off the stool and they moved into the furthest corner of the bar, choosing their regular table of secrecy. James slid into the booth and before he lost his nerve raised his hands and with deliberate care placed them upon the table. They trembled.

There was silence, a minute or two filled with more words than they had ever expressed out loud. He didn’t dare raise his head, didn’t dare move at all. Then his hand was seized across the table. He looked up as David laid it to his cheek and held it there, the warmth of his skin burning him almost as much as the fire in his gaze.

“Six years.”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

David closed his eyes and turned his hand, placing a kiss on the clammy palm. “Thank you.”

That night the Gem of Amarra lay discarded on the bedside table, the soft light breaking in the cheap glass and casting streaks of green shimmer upon their sleeping forms.

fin


End file.
